You Can't NORBAC Again, Chapter 2

by Simahoyo

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My nerves were on edge. Why can't I ever have just one thing happen at a time instead of watching the first domino fall and wondering how many more are lined up...I plastered a smile on my face, holding hands with Jack. He was tense too.

My parents were sitting on the sofa, fake relaxed and united in whatever they wanted. Mom's eyebrow lifted slightly, and Dad's nostrils flared. Good manners took over.

"Mom, Dad, this is Jack Armstrong." And then they turned into a pair of teenagers. I swear, I knew they would have a problem with his name–and I wondered what his parents had been thinking, but they probably didn't know old time radio and Jack Armstrong, All American Boy.

It was through one of those that my parents met.

They got that gleam in their eyes, and they looked at each other. I would have to nip this in the bud now. "Jack, this is my father, E. G. Isles, and my mother, Constance Isles." I glared at them, and gave the tiniest shake of my head. Dad gave me his," Please let me misbehave" look. Mom looked from Dad, back to me and dropped her shoulders. Phew.

Mom extended her hand to Jack. "It's lovely to meet you." Dad followed up with one of his intimidating grips, which Jack survived as if Dad hadn't tried to break his hand. Dad always had trouble with any man in my life. I sat down, pulling Jack beside me.

Dad started his job interview act, but Mom was getting anxious. I suddenly realized why Jane liked to run away from uncomfortable situations. I was tempted. Jack answered Dad's tenth question about his background, then Mom cleared her throat. They looked at each other.

"Mom, didn't you have something you needed to discuss with me?" I felt Jack relax while Mom leaned forward.

"Ebola is a huge challenge. It will take the work of several nations to stop it where it is now, and eradicate it, or at least provide a vaccine. Liberia has only 45 doctors to serve the entire country. If you go, there will be 46.

NORBAC needs someone to organize a North American response to the crisis, which means finding ways to send not only doctors, but other medical staff, supplies, build field hospitals, coordinate shipping, deal with organizations and governments in Canada, the US and Mexico for six months while their usual administrator is in treatment for Super Hepatitis C. If you applied for this position, you could do so much more than the work of one doctor."

She had done her homework, She was working me like a major donor to one of her charities, but I knew there was nothing phoney about this–it was close to her heart. She was right too. There was a good chance to me to fill that role. I had five years as the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I had worked with Doctors Without Borders in Africa, I speak French, Spanish and some African languages and served on the boards of more than one charity. Mom clasped her hands together and looked me in the eye. I smiled slowly. She grinned and gave a little jump while still seated.

"Who do I send my C.V' to?"

"To whom...", said Dad automatically. Grandma Isles was still correcting my grammar using Dad as her proxy. Mom ignored him,

"Doctor David Sandstrom. I have the address here.", as she took his card from her pocket...the Boy Scouts have nothing on my mother as far as being prepared.

Toronto, Canada

David Sandstrom finally got to the pile of mail on his desk. He sorted the envelopes like a deck of cards. It was amazing how much junk mail an international microbiology lab got. He round filed those. A letter from his daughter, Lilith, which he slipped into his pocket. He'd read it at home after dinner. One letter was handwritten and postmarked Boston, Massachusetts. Probably another hopefull for Wes' job. It was expensive paper, and he opened it more out of curiosity than anything else. He already had fifteen of these, and this one was rather late.

Dr. Maura Isles, Chief Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. What the hell was a commonwealth? She had some decent administrative experience, was published in several medical journals...so far, so good, but did she know...yep, French and Spanish and Serbian? Ah, experience with MSF in Africa, speaks 2 African languages. The references nailed it–the governor (was that the same as a Provincial prime minister?), of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and the heads of some big charities. He sent her an email asking her to come up to Toronto for an interview. Then he went down to the labs to push Rachel to look for practical ways to kill off the Ebola virus in infected humans.

That weekend, they were all so tired they took a day off, gathering at David's loft, while Rachel took her turn cooking–something. They rotated among them. Everytime Bob cooked it was spaghetti, so Rachel's fried catfish, cheezy grits and stewed summer squash were a welcome change. They gathered around the long table and started passing the food around. Mayko took a spoonful of grits and passed them to Bob.

"Have you heard from Wes, Rachel?"

"Yes. He emailed me last night. The treatments seem to be working." She was beaming.

Carlos gave David a look. "Have you found anyone you like to coordinated the efforts against Ebola yet?"

David sat back in his chair–"Yeah, I think I may have. Anyone heard of a doctor Maura Isles?"

Blank looks went around the table. Then Bob spoke up. "I read some articles she wrote in the New England Journal of Medicine–one was on using water borne bacteria in a corpse's lungs to pinpoint the exact place of death. It was very interesting, because the problem was locating the precise source of water in the lungs of a drowning victim. The victim was found in the ocean, but the chemical contents proved to be rainwater, while the bacteria placed it where fish had been processed..."

"Thanks, Bob. At first I was wondering how a Medical Examiner might fit in here, but it checked out her references. The Governor of the Commonwealth–what the hell is that, Rachel?"

"It's an old-fashioned term for state."

"Oh, well, he had some great things to say about her, but then he had hand written a note at the end saying, 'When those 6 months are over, I want her back!' Impressed the hell out of me. I'm gonna check her for a backbone because whoever I hire has to be able to stand up to Riddlemeyer."

"And you.", said Mayko with a smile.

"Oh yeah, that's a given. She'll be up here on Tuesday–you can all take a peek as she walks by–ten thirty. Any questions you want me to ask her."

"Yes, find out if she's a Republican. Carl will try to use that to get what he wants." Rachel frowned. "And he'll try to threaten her if she's a Democrat."

"Check her Spanish,", added Carlos. "I've heard you try to speak French, David, and it's a disaster, my friend."

"I'll let you do that, Carlos. How the hell would I know?"

"Don't forget you have to let the member nations vet her. You know the science, but they are paying her." Mayko's voice was serious.

"I'd feel better about that if any of them knew the first fucking thing about who we need."

TBC